


the art of lowering oneself (or other conversations you shouldn't have drunk at midnight)

by kingwellsjaha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon compliant (I guess), Gen, Hvitserk/Margrethe (Minor), set during the celebrations of ivar's victory over lagertha, very explicit discussion of sex acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: “Hvitserk,” Ivar's words are slurred and drawn out, “I have a question.”Hvitserk is in the middle of deciding if he wants to have their mother’s style back. On one hand, he wants to have a style of his own, but on the other she knew her way around house decor and Hvitserk trusts her taste still.“Hm?”“Back then with Margrethe,” he speaks her name as if it is dirt in his mouth, wrinkling his nose, “why did you,” Ivar stops, licking his lips before raising his hand just to lower it again, “why did you lower yourself?”aka. ivar has a question. hvitserk has some answers. both will not be able to see eye to eye with each other.





	the art of lowering oneself (or other conversations you shouldn't have drunk at midnight)

**Author's Note:**

> this is apparently what a drabble looks like, when i try to write one. anyway, this is mostly just light-hearted fun. i tried to stay in character here. not sure if that fully worked, but enjoy regardless. i really enjoyed writing this because it gave me the immense pleasure of dunking on both ivar and hvitserk.
> 
> shoutout to irisdouglasiana for like just taking my headcanons and making very very funny suggestions.
> 
> warnings: cissexist language, heteronormative ideas of what sex is supposed to look like, and very explicit discussions of oral sex

It’s late at night and they have drunk too much. The victory celebrations have long come to a hold. Harald is lying in front of the throne snoring somewhat peacefully after having lost both his wife and his brother in one day. The other men and women have either left or are sleeping.

They should probably go to sleep as well, but they don’t. Hvitserk has the feeling that both him and Ivar do not want to let go of this glorious moment. So they sit on the steps to the throne a full pitcher between them. Ivar has taken the goat and put it onto his lap where it has made itself comfortable and seems to be asleep. He pets it absentmindedly, his eyes on the hall in front of him.

Hvitserk follows his gaze taking a look around to the halls that seem so familiar. And yet something has changed. He isn’t exactly sure what. It’s very likely that his memory is just playing tricks on him or Lagertha really has changed some of the decor during her time as queen. Following that thought he realizes that they now can change the decor to suit their taste as well. A possibility he has never considered until now.

His eyes move around the hall trying to think about changes he would prefer to make, when Ivar begins to speak.

“Hvitserk,” his words are slurred and drawn out, “I have a question.”

Hvitserk is in the middle of deciding if he wants to have their mother’s style back. On one hand, he wants to have a style of his own, but on the other she knew her way around house decor and Hvitserk trusts her taste still.

“Hm?”

He is still too focused on the possible outline of the whole place and how to possibly get Ivar to allow him to do such things that he doesn’t notice the pause Ivar makes until he asks the question.

“Back then with Margrethe,” he speaks her name as if it is dirt in his mouth, wrinkling his nose. Hvitserk actually needs a moment to get who he is talking about.

“Why did you,” Ivar stops, licking his lips before raising his hand just to lower it again. Hvitserk frowns even more making Ivar roll his eyes, “why did you lower yourself?”

It takes a moment before Hvitserk finally realizes what Ivar is talking about. Immediately his mind moves back to that day and that particular moment with Margrethe’s (magnificent) thighs pressing against his cheeks. The memory is instant and strong and he needs to lick his lips and blink a little before he is able to answer.

“You saw that, huh?”

Ivar rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. Hvitserk realizes his mistake even before Ivar speaks.

“Of course, how would I ask otherwise?”

That makes sense. After all Ivar had known that Margrethe had slept with all of them, which means that he must’ve seen something. Hvitserk takes a big gulp of his cup emptying it in the process. He tries not to think about who knows more about their brothers’ sex life, him or Ivar.

Ivar would probably win in quantity and he in quality.

“I see,” he mumbles and takes the pincher to fill his cup again.

This time Ivar hits his arm slightly in anger making the ale flow over his hand.

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Hvitserk stares at his wet hand and thinks about it for a moment. He really isn’t prepared for such a discussion, but - his eyes trail back to Ivar who looks at him expectantly - maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to explain to Ivar the basic concept of it all. After all Hvitserk is highly aware of how inept he is and it’s a thing Ivar is actually able to do.

So he takes another gulp of ale and puts the cup to the side. Where to start?

“You know, how a woman looks down there right?” As he finishes the sentence, he realizes in what dangerous water he is truly swimming. Ivar’s nose flares up.

“I do, Hvitserk.” His voice is angry and insistent. Hvitserk tries not to roll his eyes and plays along. Yes, this is a totally normal reaction. Nothing weird about aggressively insisting that one has seen female genitalia up close, totally having a normal one. He takes another gulp of his drink, almost having finished it again. This is going to be far harder than anticipated.

“You know that they have like this small piece of flesh,” he tries his best to look to the tables now trying to count how many men and women are sleeping or drinking. There are two men clearly in a very deep discussion about something right in front of him. They have their hands on each others shoulders and laugh and Hvitserk would give anything to be them now in this moment. He stops, realizing that he has lost his train of thought. Piece of flesh, right.

“It’s right above their entrance,” he dares to turn again to Ivar, who now just looks bored.

“Yeah, of course I do and?”

Hvitserk licks his lips. He tries to think of a more poetic way to say what he wants to say, but gives up in the end.

“They are incredibly sensitive there. It makes them squirm and…, ” he stops there uncertain where to go next with this.

Ivar’s face turns from bored to confused. He furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“And that’s why you would go onto your knees and touch this place with your mouth like some sort of dog?”

Sometimes Hvitserk believes that he knows Ivar, after all the shit they’ve been through, but sometimes in moments like this Hvitserk realizes that they both think very differently.

Ivar furrows his brows further, until his face clears up a little and he sighs as if he has understood something. He pets the goat again.

“Is that a 'you' thing? You always liked to touch things with your mouth.”

“No?” Now Hvitserk is affronted, how dare Ivar. He’s trying his best to give his little brother something here. Some help that he so direly needs, but of course Ivar is less than thankful. Why is he even surprised?

“I remember when mother had to stop you from licking the whole table because you were so keen on eating it up.”

“It-,” Hvitserk stops himself from lashing out. He presses his lips together and breathes in before continuing to talk.

“That has nothing to do with it,” he hopes, “other men do that too,” he takes a sip of ale and then fills his cup again, “and I assume Lagertha and Astrid did too.”

That’s an argument that even Ivar cannot go against. Ivar turns away aggressively petting the goat on the head so that it wakes.

“But isn’t it dirty? And it must taste abhorrent.”

And to believe that Ivar considers himself a smart man and Björn dumb.

“It’s not dirty, Ivar, it’s rather self cleaning given that it’s moist,” he can not stop himself from giggling at the last words. Ivar shoots him a dirty look, but this time it doesn’t stop Hvitserk anymore. Why feel uncomfortable when confronted with such an idiot? “Also it doesn’t taste bad. Sperm tastes way worse.”

Ivar’s eyes grow wide.

“You’ve tasted sperm?”

He looks gleeful and disgusted at the same time. Hvitserk rolls his eyes.

“Not like you think, asshole.”

Ivar starts to laugh shaking his head. Hvitserk rolls his eyes.

“What? You never… finished and got curious?”

Maybe he never has, Hvitserk realizes after he has finished the sentence. After all Ivar is incapable of getting it up or at least Hvitserk believes that that’s what Margrethe meant when she told Sigurd that he is incapable of satisfying a woman. He never had dared to inquire further. Ivar continues to grin, but Hvitserk simply remains stunned as he watches his little brother. He has never considered that Ivar might be unable to even jerk off. Somehow that explains a lot of things to Hvitserk although he is not really sure what things exactly.

Ivar does not react in a way that gives away if he has or has not. He simply shakes his head and now takes a gulp of his drink.

“Of course you would, you would probably lick the dirt off the floor if you got ‘curious’ enough.”

Before Ivar can take the pitcher to refill, Hvitserk grabs it. He finishes his drink before refilling and enjoys Ivar’s pouting expression, but ends up refilling Ivar’s cup as well in the end. He shouldn’t be too angry with him. Why being angry at a fool for that matter? He has never asked, but he is certain that other men know what sperm tastes like, after all most women know what their cum tastes like. It’s not such a stretch. He puts down the pitcher and strokes the goat gently. For him the matter is settled, but Ivar apparently has still things to say.

“But still,” Ivar continues after taking a swing, “why would a man lower himself like that to please a woman?”

Hvitserk presses his hand against his eyes moving onto massaging his nose bridge. This reminds him of the time, after the wedding night, when he had suggested to Ubbe that maybe switching positions with Margrethe would be a good idea only to receive a blank stare by Ubbe and a shoulder shrug. Somehow this is even worse.

“Is this really what it’s all about?” He finally asks almost more to himself because it feels like he has finally uncovered the source of the problem here. Although he cannot really understand Ivar’s logic. With Ubbe and Björn a thing for dominance would make sense and he is certain that both of them had still ‘lowered’ themselves for the task. But Ivar couldn’t be that dominant in the first place. He can be nothing in bed. He’s unable to, so lowering himself is the only bit he got, so why complain?

“Not at all, but if I accept that everything else you say is true,” Ivar says as if he has any experience to counter Hvitserk’s, “if it’s not dirty and the taste isn’t too bad,” _ spoiled little brat _, “then that’s the remaining problem.”

Ivar presses his hands together and looks at Hvitserk expectantly. Hvitserk stares back uncertain how to proceed further. It’s not like he wants to explain this to him. He also doesn’t understand Ivar’s problem.

Of course, he understands the appeal of power and dominance over a woman, but at the end of the day sex is sex and having some is better than having none. So why make such a big fuzz out of it all?

But then he thinks about Margrethe and maybe he should try and explain this still. Maybe he is saving some poor girl in the future from spending the dullest night of her life with his little brother. There is something to be gained here. So he closes his eyes and sighs and tries to think about it from Ivar’s perspective.

“I mean, I don’t know, but when a woman is barely capable of standing with shaking legs and quivering thighs,” he conjures the image inside his head trying his best to make it look appealing, not that it should be hard, “she’s basically at your mercy with a flick of your tongue,” he dares to open his eyes and sees that Ivar has stopped smirking and is just simply staring at him, mouth slightly opened. This is the right way to go. He takes another deep breath.

“I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t consider this lowering yourself.”

He takes another sip and watches Ivar thinking about it. Ivar remains quiet and looks almost thoughtful. Maybe Hvitserk’s words have worked. Maybe he has just gifted some girl a good night. Ivar looks across the great hall, his expression growing neutral. His eyes move to the goat in his lap and he pets it once again, now a little more softly.

A tiny smile appears on the corners of his lips and Hvitserk cannot help but smile as well feeling a little proud.

Ivar’s eyes turn to him.

“But Margrethe didn’t quiver,” Hvitserk’s smile freezes on his face, “she didn’t even shake, she looked in perfect control to me.”

Ivar takes another sip. His smile has turned wide and smug. Why had Hvitserk even bothered?

“Fuck you,” he retorts unable to come up with a good comeback. He gets up and moves down the stairs searching for some mead left on the table.

“Why are you leaving me?” Ivar mocks as Hvitserk fills his cup with mead.

“I am not,” he counters and comes back. Ivar is still smiling and he will probably for the next couple of days. He will use it as another weapon is his arsenal of insults, but Hvitserk will not let himself be bothered by it. That would be as stupid as letting himself be bothered by child which proclaims to be a better fighter.

He takes another sip and looks around. Ivar follows his gaze.

“What are you thinking?” His tone gets a little more serious.

“I think this place needs a little renovation after Lagertha. Maybe some of the nice tapestries our mother used to create,” he says it half to distract Ivar from the topic and half because he actually means it.

It seems to work. Ivar’s eyes shoot throughout the room looking at the tapestry that still clung to the walls.

“You’re right,” he wrinkles his nose, “we should get rid of all the ugliness this woman has brought to this place.”

Hvitserk smiles at that. He is uncertain what the future holds, how they will continue. If there is one thing he has learned from his mother, it’s not easy being a regent.

He raises his cup.

“To us!”

He waits for Ivar to retort, to make it about himself, but he doesn’t. Ivar smiles and raises his cup as well.

“To us indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> this time you don't have to say anything, i let you go scott free! however i do hope it was as funny as it felt like in my own head.


End file.
